Odds and Ends (photos)

There are several photos that I keep meaning to post here but... you all know my memory. Now's the time, my friends. Left, you see my first (and most likely last) attempt at Japanese calligraphy. I found myself at a cultural festival in Urasoe City several weeks ago (there was a hoola dancer. There were people pounding mochi with mallets. There were zillions of joyous children running underfoot. There were karate-men and sushi and sandwiches and more.) Most pertinent to our story: there was a calligraphy station. The people running this joint got the idea into their heads that each and every gaijin there should be forced to produce a calligraphic masterpiece. So without explanation I found myself twirled around, a brush pressed into my hand, and bam. There was Peace. That's what this says, peace. I wouldn't mind it, except that they forced me to write my name on the left hand side. Now what am I supposed to do with it? I have a hanging scroll that says, "PEACE, Joy-SU!" Geeeeeez.

Ok, this is another of my artistic masterpieces, since we're on the subject. As I mentioned before, my mother sends me a plethora of mail. This is an example of one of the odd kinds of things that she thinks to put inside the envelopes. It's a baby clown in space, drawn by mom and Joyce, 21 years ago. According to a note from mom on the back, I was still working on mastering the J. As you can see. kawaiiiiiiii!

Lastly, there is a photo of my spankin' new name stamp. Name stamps are very important in Japan. They're called inkan, and someone can steal your identity if they get their hands on your inkan. I've warned you now, don't complain about identity-theft when you move to Japan. My official inkan is really boring because I'm a gaijin. It says, ジョイス (jo-i-su). Today I was nodding off at my desk when Katanosaka (the eccentric and handsome art teacher) enters, stage left. "Junko-sensei!" He exclaims near my head. I jerk awake and almost head butt him in the process. Teachers at my school insist on talking to me through Junko-sensei (my supervisor whose desk is to my right) if she is within a 10ft radius. Never mind that we communicate perfectly alright when we are alone together, they seem to think that once a translator appears, I will no longer understand them. A curse on both your houses! I think with a sullen glower as they talk about me over my head.

Jibber-jabber at lightning speed ensues, then the art teacher grins and shoves a small bamboo piece filled with dry flowers into my confused hands. When I turned this mini-vase over, it turned out to be a hand-carved inkan, with my name in beautimous (though fairly meaningless) kanji. Turns out that he had made this for me as a thank you present about 5 months ago when I baked him a birthday cake. Apparently, no one had celebrated his b-day in 7 years or something before my cake. But hadn't quite had the nerve to give the inkan to me after he made it. Ok. Better late than never? Now I have a kanji name! Scoooooore.